Absolute Loyalty
by Rex Tims
Summary: Harry, shunned as a Parselmouth, stumbles across a broken Luna locked in a cupboard. Through helping her, he begins something much more than a friendship that develops over the years. Something so much more.
1. Birth

Pre-reading note: Set in second year. To simplify the story without detracting from it (at least in my opinion,) the Duelling Club Parseltongue incident happened prior to Halloween, the exact date unimportant. What is important is that people believed Harry to be an evil dark wizard, then Mrs (Chuck) Norris was petrified with the warning written onto the walls which solidified their opinion of him.

_**Absolute Loyalty**_

_'I am his sword and shield whether or not he realises it. If he commands it, it shall be done. He is my Commander, I his soldier; he my Master, I his willing servant; he my God, I his Angel of Destruction. Without him my life is nothing, with him my life is everything, by his side I always will be. There is no distance large enough, no ward strong enough, no magic powerful enough to keep me from him if he wishes me at his side. If he were to take on hell with nothing but a wand, I will be there; if he were to take on heaven with an army of undead, I will be there. What I feel for him goes beyond love: it is the infallible knowledge that he will never hurt me nor treat me unfairly, that he will reciprocate my affection and that his happiness is my happiness, his despair my own, that in mind, body and soul we are truly one. So, I ask you this, will you step aside or will you be dead before you reach your wand?'_

* * *

Her breath shallow; the shadows unrelenting; slowly her mind withdrew.

Seconds, minutes, hours, she did not know; pounding of her heart, beating painfully; cramping of muscles; bruising of bones; spasms of pain as forgotten nerves awoke while others began to sleep; slowly, tears dripped down her cheek as she sobbed on the stone floor.

Hours, minutes, seconds, thirteen, twelve, one. Buzzing blared in her ears, colourful shapes danced across her vision, bittersweet coated her tongue, unseeable bugs crossed her skin, brimstone breezed through her nostrils.

Seconds, milliseconds, microseconds, crawling carefully, mindful of her as she lost control of herself, muscles pulling awkwardly without reason, thoughts jarring and jerking, emotions flaring.

Nanoseconds, centuries, days, each barely holding onto meaning as her teeth chattered and eyes cycled through dilation and contraction.

Moments, memories, myth, each vying without winning.

Seconds, precious seconds, when the buzzing silenced.

Over alert ears picked out the sound, perhaps some miles away or perhaps metres. Slow, light footsteps approaching her. Feet stilling, light breathing became her focus.

Like thunder amongst rain, her ears clearly heard, 'Ouch.'

* * *

He avoided the more popular nocturnal areas. Remembering things was something he had to be good at. His current path set him through a more or less abandoned wing of Hogwarts, one that hadn't seen use in many decades as the student body shrunk.

Hidden from the world, it was important to keep on guard. While impossible to be seen, he knew his scent and near inaudible steps could lead a certain cat to him, which admittedly wasn't a problem at the moment, but was still something he had gotten used to.

The school was silent, but he expected no less at around eleven at night. Astronomy Tower had been his origin, his eyes relishing the treat of starlight. It had been the result of insomnia, his conscience heavy with the ill-disguised whispering behind his back.

Approaching a cross-section, he paused, double checking his internal map to make sure he took the right path.

Only, it wasn't silent.

His ears led him down a corridor, one he didn't think anything or anyone ever used if the clean nature was to be believed (it was an easy observation that someone or something kept the entire school looking pristine, so only the well-trampled areas hinted grime.)

A gentle sobbing, so weak it was more a feeling than a sound, directed him. It took him passed old classrooms and a left him outside a broom cupboard. Pressing his ear against the door, the volume increased enough to assure him.

Slowly, his hand rose, escaping the cloak encompassing him, but as it touched the metal handle a jolt ran through him and he couldn't hold back the, 'Ouch,' that escaped as his hand recoiled.

The sobbing halted on the other side.

Idly rubbing away the lingering pain, even if it was barely an annoyance, he quietly offered, 'I'm going to get you out.' It wasn't the case he would try, he would, even if he had to tear the door down with cutting curses, the closest to a damaging spell he knew. 'The handle has been jinxed, but I'll get around it, just give me a minute.'

There wasn't any response, but the sobbing remained on hiatus, so he left it there. Examining his surroundings as he took off his cloak, the only oddity was a nearby wand.

'Looks like your wand's out here, I'll roll it under for you,' he whispered, managing to manoeuvre it through the slight gap beneath the door. Taking a second look and releasing a sigh, he returned to staring at the door, his little magical experience demoralising. Retrieving his own wand, he focused on the memory as he incanted, '_Alohamora_.'

There was a click, but no motion. Cringing, he mentally prepared himself as he reached forward, grasping the handle that felt as though it should glow red and twisted while tugging. It jerked open and he relinquished, shaking away the manageable pain.

Looking inside, there was a small girl, or perhaps she only looked so small as she was curled up so tightly. Her eyes stared through him, ignoring the loose strands that were draped in front. It made him think of looking at a caged animal that had given up.

Forcing a smile onto his face, he pocketed his wand and made sure to appear as harmless as possible – with his recent reputation, it would be easy for her to hex first. For nearly a minute he waited, standing at the doorway.

Then, she unfurled slightly, stretching her arms out.

It took him a moment to process it; of all her reactions, he wasn't expecting that she would want to be hugged. Her arms were too wide to be asking for a hand-up though and there was certainly a precedent for sad girls wanting to be hugged around the school.

Slowly, he lowered himself to the floor beside her, at which point her arms encircled him and pulled tight. It hurt at first, but a little wriggling set that aside. After hesitating, he tentatively looped his arms around her, gently rubbing a figure of eight upon her back as Hermione had done for him as, quite simply, that was the only experience he had with hugging.

* * *

His words were lost on her at first. She heard, 'I'm going to get you out,' but it meant no more to her than the tingling in her skin. But, gently, meaning surfaced, probing her meek mind, pulling fragments like hope and deceit together as her shell reformed.

More words trickled through.

'The handle has been jinxed, but I'll get around it, just give me a minute.'

All words she knew but she struggled to understand them together. Carefully, she regrew to a point where it had a vague association, one of hope.

'Looks like your wand's out here, I'll roll it under for you.'

Puzzling it out, her eyes followed the slight change in bleak lighting. Her hands, acting more from curious instinct than coherent thought, snaked out, pouncing on the addition to her enclosure. A slight jolt went through her, pushing pieces into place as a small sphere of night blue formed at the tip. Like an old friend, the wash of magic caressed her, reminding her.

'_Alohamora_.'

An extract from a book flashed in her mind's eye, half a page of words recounting in an instant and letting her know what the spell did. A spider's web of information lit inside her, simultaneously forcing a dozen related spells to her attention.

'_Libertas_.'

Not him but her that time as her mouth recalled its own functionality. It was silent, but effective as her mind produced its first thought in what felt like ever.

'Freedom.'

Sudden movement drew her attention to the door as it jerked open. Light flooded in, but her eyes contracted, tempering the influx to tolerable levels. Nothing, then a shadow. Precise adjustment brought it into focus, revealing a fairly small boy.

Something closer to a map unfurled in her mind this time. Stretching back shy of three decades, newspaper articles flashed up, seemingly unrelated but growing in occurrence as an internal counter rose, counting the deaths. Then, nearly a decade ago, that counter paused as a stream of similar articles emerged. Children's books were next, detailing impossible deeds of wishful thinkers, all leading up to a bit beyond a year ago.

That had all been a long stream making up a major road of her internal associations. Beginning a year ago, a newer road had been built, one with foundations in rumours and gossip. Talks of taking on trolls, fearless flying, duels for dishonour, pitiful potioneering, anything and everything in a swerving, illogical path.

In the last couple of months, a third route had formed, that of observations. Images of him sitting at breakfast and exiting classes and studying in the library and wandering around the grounds and practising his flying, all but the last with his two friends.

There was purity in that one, a trodden path through a forest rather than a feat of engineering. In his movement and attitude, there was no hidden malice or subtle arrogance, neither villainous nor righteous, he simply was. From his posture no noble birth and from his appearance no pampered life. If there was one thing she could say about him, it would be that he was extra ordinary rather than extraordinary.

Yet, there he was, meekly standing before her, surrounded by the light and offering her freedom. Her eyes found his, but she wanted to look further, she wanted to find his soul through his eyes.

In those eyes, there were no answers. She wished she could find them, but eyes were just eyes.

Still, a seed of hope took root as she knew of no greater gift than freedom. Her little self-control breaking down, she remembered the feeling of safety when in her mother's embrace and couldn't help but spread her arms in hope.

Surprising her, he carefully joined her on the floor, then turned, giving her the opportunity to grab a hold of him, pulling him so tight to prevent escape, taking comfort in his warmth and tender touch.

* * *

The silence had him on edge, a residual dislike for it as it reminded him of the tense time between when the others awoke from snoring and when the latch clicked open.

It hadn't even felt like a minute before he broke. 'I don't much like being locked in cupboards either.'

He doubted she would reply, but hope was what kept him going and companionship rather than pity had been his craving back then, so it may help her.

Sooner than before, he gave in again. 'Hasn't happened since I've come here, but it would happen a lot before then.'

It was more than he had told anyone else, then again not many people asked and it wasn't a pleasant to discuss sort of thing. Even Hermione on one of her learning crusades hadn't got any further than "I don't want to talk about it" and he was very thankful she had let it be.

'I live with my aunt, uncle and cousin; I found out they hate magic, so they hate me and that meant I got a cupboard for a bedroom, right up until my eleventh birthday, right before Hogwarts.'

There was still no reaction from her, but in its own way a little relief came from admitting it was his relatives, not him, were the ones with the problem. So, he continued, the words coming easier and easier.

* * *

'I don't much like being locked in cupboards either.'

She hadn't expected that. From what she knew about a "normal" life, being locked away in small spaces wasn't typical – it certainly hadn't happened to her before she attended Hogwarts.

'Hasn't happened since I've come here, but it would happen a lot before then.'

More surprising and further atypical. Even for her, the only one she had known that it happened to was herself, this had been her seventh time in a tad over two months and certainly the longest, with the closest being some six or so hours.

'I live with my aunt, uncle and cousin; I found out they hate magic, so they hate me and that meant I got a cupboard for a bedroom, right up until my birthday before Hogwarts.'

More saddening. She could understand her situation in a way as the other children hadn't had their morals tempered by the death of a loved one, however a pair of adults locking away a child on a daily basis was unforgiveable as they must have known what they were doing was incredibly wrong yet ignored it in favour of their own prejudice.

Then he continued, detailing his life. Everything from his earliest memory, being taught to cook, to how he had killed a man possessed by Voldemort at the end of last year. Sometime during the beginning of his summer, heavy lids dropped, shortly after accompanied by a quiet snore.

* * *

'Then, on my birthday-'

He halted, a cute snore emanating. It honestly never occurred to him that it was possible to have a cute snore, having been subjected to impressions of groaning cars or rusty chainsaws for his entire life, but hers was soft and gentle, closer to humming really.

Relaxing his arms and leaning back, he was amused to find her pull him back, leading him to compare himself to a teddy bear. Shifting to thoughts of what to do, he could hardly bring her to Professor McGonagall or any other teacher without having to confess to breaking curfew and his last experience of being caught doing so made it undesirable.

The other thought of returning her to her bed was met by the problem of not knowing where she belonged in more ways than one. He doubted she was a Gryffindor being an unfamiliar face as he did sort of know the other new firsties in his House. She hadn't appeared in any of his lessons, unless he was a lot less observant than he thought possible, and she was much too small to be a third year, so he was pretty confident in thinking she was a firstie.

Slytherin was his first guess, that being the only House he thought capable of torturing, because he knew that's what this truly was, their own members, but then he had to consider the possibility that she was in another House and caught by Slytherins. Except that brought up the problem of why there wasn't anyone looking for her, which unfortunately brought him back to her own House doing this to her. Another thought highlighted how other people were treating him, even his own House-mates, bringing doubt to his Slytherin opinion.

That was still just the first problem. The second was he had no idea where the other Houses stayed and, even if he did, the password to enter would prevent him. Assuming he could get that far, the girls dorms in Gryffindor were charmed, or warded or protected by some other magic, to stop boys from entering and he thought it likely that same protection would be on the others. Just for the heck of thinking of it, he still wouldn't know which was the first year dorm nor which was her bed and it would be incredibly bad to be found out at that point.

After all, it would look like he was stealing a first year girl from her bed in the middle of the night, which really wouldn't do his reputation any good regardless of whether or not he explained himself with her backing him up.

Though, despite its infeasibility, it did give him a very much possible idea.

Gradually moving, he brought her a little away from the wall, letting him hold her better and pull his feet beneath him. Bit by bit, he rose, carrying her with him. Though straining at first, once he was standing, the extra weight wasn't a problem.

She snuggled into him as he released an arm to gather his cloak – a quiet, '_Wingardium Leviosa_,' letting him do so easily. With some difficulty, he managed to grab hold of the cloak in his hand that kept her up while re-pocketing his wand and using the now-free hand to cover them both with the cloak.

The journey back was slower than normal with a few breaks being taken before reaching the entrance to the Gryffindor common room.

'Wattlebird.'

Jumping, the Fat Lady looked around, though her eyes were quick to droop again as she mumbled, 'Go on in,' the frame swinging to reveal the entrance.

Though a struggle, he managed to get them both calmly through, her gentle breathing undisturbed. Creeping up to his dorm, he carefully climbed onto his bed, closing the drapes behind them before removing the cloak. Laying her down, he had the unique problem of her arms keeping him at her side.

While he wasn't going to do anything unwanted to her while awake, he knew he was prone to moving in his sleep and would rather no accidents occur. As for the other option, he doubted his ability to put off sleep while lying down with nothing to do and a hot-water bottle to keep away the Scottish chill.

Sighing in his somewhat compromising position hovering above her, he looked around for a replacement him, settling on a pillow. Hoping that it wouldn't be enough to disturb her sleep, he removed one of the two pillows beneath her head and slipped it between them. Then, in a single fluid motion, unclasped her grip on him and jerked back.

The tension lasted nearly a minute as a frown took place, incidentally the first emotion he saw from her, while her hands grasped the air, searching for him, before finding the substitute and hugging it, her frown easing away.

Releasing the breath he held, he scooted back to the far end of the bed, sitting with his lower back against the wooden railing. Looking up, it was an odd sight. She hadn't been as small as he first thought, but was still rather petite. Her choice of clothing lacked the formal robes and her muggle jeans, possibly the only modern clothing that seemed to have crossed the magical gap, were complimented by the simple pale blue top that bordered on grey. He couldn't be sure, but in the little time he had actually seen her face, her eyes looked to have been a similar shade, though their red and watery state made it hard to be confident. Finally, her blonde hair lay in disarray over her face and pillow, the longest strands reaching down to her stomach.

She looked so harmless and gentle, it saddened and enraged him that anyone would hurt her.

Breaking away from her, with a slight blush as it occurred to him he had spent the last few minutes staring at a, admitted under pain of embarrassment, pretty girl, he turned his thoughts to what tomorrow would bring.

* * *

Stirring from her dreams of three-headed dogs, misbehaving brooms, barking owls and other fantastically unusual occurrences, she became aware of the softness beneath her and the lack of itching which was strange as itching was something she had come to associate with her bed. Thus, it was peculiar and disconcerting.

Flicking open an eye, over the top of the pillow she peculiarly was hugging, she spotted a seated figure on the end of the bed, a book propped up on his knees. She focused on the words, managing to identify "UIDDI" and, beneath it, "ROUGH TH", which prompted her memory to offer _Quidditch Through The Ages_, a popular book among Quidditch enthusiasts.

What had happened last night replayed, though it didn't explain where or why she was here. Given that he didn't even know her name, let alone House (his actions hadn't contradicted such) then it was unlikely it was her bed and more likely it was his. That would also explain the lack of itching powder or similar "prank".

The weak sunlight projected onto the curtain suggested early morning, not much beyond seven and, as it was the weekend, a significant time before most would rise. That he was awake suggested he was an early riser, unsupported by her never having seen him at even eight in the couple of months she was around, or that he hadn't slept, supported by the same clothes as he wore the night before and that she was (objectively) sleeping alone in his bed.

So, he had brought her back to his bed to let her sleep comfortably when she had fallen asleep in his arms the night before, though it was perhaps more accurate to say she fell asleep with him in her arms if her memories were precise. That had been while listening to his life story, for lack of a better description, and it was a thoroughly unpleasant one.

Still, it was a, well, reckless decision on his part as she analysed her situation. She was in a boy's bed in another House and had no access to any spells that may help, or at least none that she could yet cast that would help – Notice-Me-Not and Disillusionment charms were at the top of her list.

Intent, though, was important and he had intended to be nice, or at least she hoped he did. Right now, that put him before everyone else in the castle, no, the entire world if she excluded her father, though a handful of people she met during their camping trips were close behind.

Opening her other eye, she took in what he looked like when he thought no one was watching.

The glasses perched upon his nose looked old, a number of scratches highlighted by the lighting, though not on the pristine glass – was it a sign he cared for functionality over aesthetics or simply didn't have a choice? His robes, deposited haphazardly on the side of the bed, seemed well cared for and of good quality, yet the oversized clothing he wore clung to his scrawny frame with a sewn up tear here and there.

Then again, she knew he had money and he had greedy relatives who hated him; would it be unreasonable for him to avoid buying nice clothing or new glasses in case they asked questions or decided he didn't need it?

His messy black hair was arranged in a way to hide his scar. She wouldn't like being reminded about the hypothetical death of her parents either. At the same time, she recalled his tale of hair regrowth, and no subsequent attempts at haircutting, which implied a bit of latent metamorphmagus ability. She would keep an eye on its length to see if it changed at all over the year.

Returning down a bit, she inspected his eyes. Her look the night before hadn't revealed his soul, but this time she was simply looking to observe. They appeared a touch strained, agreeing with his lack of sleep, yet the red contrasted with emerald in an interesting way.

His nose wriggled as he went to turn the page and a momentary bob of his eyes had them looking at each other. A wry smile appeared on his face as he quietly said, 'Morning.'

She tilted her head slightly, an odd action when still lying down. Last night, she hadn't spoken, at first out of shame and fear, then later out of interest and an inability to add anything. Now, it would probably be an idea to at least form a working partnership to smuggle her out. 'Thank you.'

His smile eased wider as he replied, 'You're welcome.'

It was the first smile she had gotten from another student in over a month.

'I, er, hope you don't mind, but I brought you up to my bed since I didn't even know what House you were in. Um, did you want a shower before you go? None of my dorm-mates will be up any time soon and I can guard the door to make sure no one walks in on you if you do.'

It was the first nice gesture she had gotten since she arrived. 'I think it's best if I leave as soon as possible so I'm least likely to be caught.'

His lips quirked into a lopsided grin as he pulled up a grey cloak. 'Sneaking out is easy enough,' he explained while draping it over him, removing him from sight. 'So, shower or no shower?'

An interesting item and it would be nice to have a worry-free, cleansing shower after last night or yesterday evening, whichever was the more appropriate term. 'Shower.'

From nothingness his head appeared, the same grin in place as the cloak uncovered him before he held it out for her. 'Doesn't hurt to be careful.'

Sitting up, she gently nodded her agreement while taking it. Smooth, it felt like silk on her fingertips.

'I won't put any locking charms on the door unless you want me to after, well, last night, but feel free to use your own,' then, his eyes widening slightly, hastily added, 'not that I have any plans on peeking, but whatever to make you comfortable.'

It was, well, it was a thoughtful suggestion, something she hadn't received since Professor Flitwick suggested that they, that is the Ravenclaw first years, should move their bookmark as they read if they were sleepy. 'Okay,' she said, the cloak covering her.

'Follow me,' he whispered while slipping between the gap in the curtain.

Though a little sluggish from the sleep, keeping up with him wasn't hard, their journey leaving the room through a side-door and down a small revealed corridor.

'One knock on the door means someone has woken up, two knocks means they're coming this way.'

It was a sensible system. 'Okay.'

Opening the door for her, he whispered, 'Take as long as you want, they're usually only up at ten.'

* * *

Aside from the minor incident, which didn't (as far as he could tell) phase her, he thought it was going well as the door slowly closed. While, admittedly, they hadn't talked much, she had thanked him and hadn't freaked out about being moved in her sleep.

It was... a quiet voice. He knew about quiet voices; his own had been like that since loud voices attracted attention and attention led to...

Still, what she had said was gentle too, a calm and neutral tone.

Shaking his head, he wondered why he was thinking so much about the girl. Sure, he felt some connection to her as one victim of bullying to another, but did that explain why he wanted to help and protect her?

Maybe it was that she looked so harmless and innocent that he couldn't bare the thought of her mistreated. Maybe it was that he always wished he had a family: a mother, father and little brothers and/or sisters. Maybe it was that he couldn't stand by and do nothing when bad things were happening to those who didn't deserve them.

Then there were her eyes. A strange, no, unique shade, like the clouds that warned a storm was on its way, still light but with a hint of grey and rays of sunshine making them silver. In a fit of poetic cheesiness, he vowed that, from now on, her cloud would have more than that as a silver lining.

* * *

Hot water brushed away the memory of her crawling flesh and doused the noxious fumes tingling in her nose.

Her sleek frame rotated slowly, letting the water pound away at her entire body as she thought.

She thought that it would either be the best or worst day since she attended Hogwarts.

_They_ had done it before, befriending her for the purpose of crushing her harder. But... would he? The stories he told weren't those someone simply makes up – there were details covering years of memories, dark memories. The stories he told weren't those of someone who acted like _they_ did.

No, he had honestly rescued her last night because he was a good, kind person. There would be no, intentional, pain from him.

She had believed that he was the Heir of Slytherin, though not in the same sense as everyone else. Parseltongue was indeed a rare gift and all the writing on it said it was an inherited gift, so the possibility that he was truly descended from Salazar was there.

That being said, she doubted anyone would be stupid enough to petrify a cat and then warn their enemies under a nickname that everyone would associate with them. Headmaster Dumbledore, while arguably senile, wouldn't have let Harry off without reason.

Closing her eyes and letting the droplets cleanse her face, she wondered what she could give back when he gave her freedom.

* * *

The door opened, pulling his attention away from thoughts. 'Er, should we get you out now?' he asked.

'Yes,' she quietly replied, hidden from sight.

'Okay, follow me.'

They went back through the dorm, down the stairs, across the sparse common room and out into the school proper. Down the hallway, he took a corner before stepping into an empty classroom, the surfaces spotless as all were.

* * *

Taking off the cloak, she looked at his back. Some how, it was easier to imagine talking to him when he wasn't looking at her, when she couldn't see how he reacted to what she said. 'Thank you, for opening the door and for telling me everything and for letting me sleep in your bed.'

'You're welcome,' he said, turning around with a smile on his face. 'Er, you can keep the cloak, if you want to. It won't stop everything, but, well, if they can't find you, they can't bully you. Just, try not to lose it or get it confiscated.'

Incredibly surprised at the gesture, it took her a moment to realise he didn't know what was implied when lending a member of the opposite sex a family heirloom, but she would clarify whether or not he proposed later. She couldn't wish for much better at the moment. 'Ar-are you sure?'

'Yeah, I just use it for sneaking 'round; you need it more than me.'

He accompanied it with a sympathetic smile, gentler than his normal ones yet, for the first time, had her smiling back. 'Thank you,' she quietly said, hoping that her voice didn't reveal how close to tears of joy she was as it seemed one scrawny little boy would, on top of all his other records, be the first person to give her a gift (even if it was more of a loan) since her ninth birthday.

'I, er, hope it helps,' he shyly added, his hand reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

She had a couple of doubts about how truly helpful it would be. The first problem was that she couldn't take it back to her room in case it was borrowed without her permission, like some of her other stuff. The second was that the Headmaster gave an eleven year old boy an invisibility cloak so was either trusting to a serious fault, which while odd would explain why Professor Snape was still employed, or had a method of tracking it.

Still, using it for a couple of days to give her enough time to get the Disillusionment charm working should be fine.

With that train of thought at an end, it occurred to her that it was the end of their time together and she desperately wished it wasn't. Part of her felt like, once they separated, she would awaken and the... happiness... would slip through her grip.

If she had to guess, the same thought occurred to him as his smile widened before he said, 'Well, I guess we should, um, be going.'

Her lips down-turning, she metaphorically grabbed her lifeline and asked, 'Could we talk again tonight?'

'Sure, just a bit earlier so I can catch up on my sleep,' he replied with a lopsided grin.

Embarrassed, she felt her cheeks heat up, no doubt displaying a light blush. Wishing she could disappear, it took her a moment to remember she could and brought the cloak around her, side-stepping once it was on. As he continued looking at where she had been, she was confident it was working. 'Thank you, would eight be okay, on your bed?'

His head twisting to, roughly, face her, he replied, 'Yeah, that'd be great.'

'Goodbye,' she softly said, though didn't move.

'Bye.' He too initially remained, though, after a handful of seconds, he started walking out of the room.

* * *

Description: About a week after the first petrification on Halloween in his second year, Harry finds a distraught Luna locked up in a cupboard. Through trying to help her then and on subsequent occasions, he unsuspectingly gains more than just a friend or ally.

The story loosely follows canon with an emphasis on Luna, but does diverge significantly at the end of second year and even further by the end of third year, pulling closer to canon for fourth and then finally breaking fully from canon in fifth year. Eventual 'ship will be Harry/Luna and eventually will have Dark-but-Good Harry and Luna, the latter coming forward much sooner. Unsure of length, but initial thoughts put it at 40 chapters / 200k, but very much subject to change as I develop the plot.


	2. Growth

He looked down at the sheet of parchment, his mind awash with pointless facts. He hated the obsession all the teachers seemed to have with history, the page littered with the who, what, when and where of a dozen transfiguration spells. Honestly, it wouldn't bore him so much if it at least had something like how the spell was made, but spell creation was far from his grasp according to the curriculum.

Scribbling out another line, his eyes wandered to the window in the common room, showing a smattering of snow, across the dark sky. The weather had continued haphazardly since the blizzard a few days ago.

'Harry, are you okay?'

Turning his head, he found an anxious gaze upon him. 'Yeah, I'm fine Hermione.'

She smiled weakly. 'Let's get this out of the way and then there's nothing to worry about until you-know-what,' she softly said.

Suppressing a snort at the conflicting images of finishing off homework in a timely manner and drugging then impersonating a trio of students, he nodded, returning her gentle smile. 'Sure.'

Back to gazing at the dull ramblings of a scholar some few hundred years ago, it was his mind that wandered this time, his thoughts pondering why he was struggling to concentrate more than usual. The obvious answer was that only the next day stood between them and the Christmas holiday, but he didn't think it was that simple.

A huff from beside him brought his attention back to the real world. Sneaking a glance, he found his study-partner glaring across the room towards the fireplace. 'Honestly, why he spends his time playing chess while we're studying is beyond me! Merlin knows he will ask me for the help the day before it's due in and we could both be saved the bother if he wasn't so, so, so Ron.'

He smiled at her assessment, concurring silently as he knew better than to fuel the flames between those two. Sometimes, it reminded him of how siblings seemed to fight, not that he had much expertise in the area. The way they infuriated each other while caring for one another definitely seemed a prevailing property of both sibling and their relationships though.

Speaking with diplomacy gained from a little over a year of playing the peacemaker, he suggested, 'Why don't we put this off until tomorrow? After all, if we're lucky, Professor McGonagall might cancel it.'

He grinned as she fell for the bait, her scowl now firmly settled on him at the very idea of a homework being cancelled or it being a good thing, he wasn't sure which. However, it seemed that his aggravation wasn't severe enough to tempt her spite as she let off another huff, seemingly deflating her anger. 'Sure, but I think that this is interesting. I would be considering doing the same for Charms, if there wasn't so much else for us to do over the holidays.'

'Let's wait and see, eh?' His apprehension was well hidden as she gave him a quaint stare before organising her mess of papers. Releasing a breath he hadn't realised he was holding, he copied her actions, though he was less picky about the order of the pages and was acting more on getting them into a single pile that he could slide into the book to keep his place.

Shaking his head, he couldn't help but think she was a bad influence on him. After all, he hadn't gotten into any trouble in well over a fortnight. Well, besides that whole discovering the petrified Justin Fitch-Fletchley. Still, his rebellious side was getting restless.

'What should we do now?' she calmly asked, though her eyes kept jerking over to the fireplace.

While his eyes wandered to the clock above the fireplace, he wondered if she would manage to not get into an argument with the third member of their trio without his supervision. 'I think I'll go to bed.'

Frowning, she bit her lip slightly. 'Are you feeling unwell? I could go with you to see Madam Pomfrey, it wouldn't be a bother, honestly.'

Thinking about how much she used the words "bother" and "honestly", he could see why people picked up on her bookish way of speaking, but he felt endeared by it. 'I'm fine, just a bit sleepy. Me and Ron stayed up a bit too late and I don't sleep until a minute before classes like him.'

He saw her frown again and struggled to hide his amusement as she was no doubt considering whether or not to correct his grammar. In the end, she settled on a sympathetic smile of sorts and said, 'Well, okay then. Have a good sleep.'

'Will do,' he said, giving her a short mock salute before making his way over to the stairs. After contemplating informing the other members of the dorm, and deciding she would probably cover that when she chastised them, he trundled up to said dormitory.

His area was sparse compared to the others, even Neville having a collection of magazines on his table. Sitting on the side of his bed, he slid his hands under and found the handle. After a few tugs, his trunk lay before him and he opened it. The fabric felt as soft as ever as he pulled the cloak up, half-covering himself.

Returning the trunk, he stood tall and carefully enclosed himself in the cloak. He walked over to the full-length mirror by his bed and slowly rotated, pleased to find no trace of himself in the reflection as always.

His time in the dormitory was completed once his bed-curtains were drawn and a pair of transfigured glasses left on his table. It wasn't the best of matches, but the lack of lenses and slight discolouring would be hardly noticeable from across the room.

He took the stairs slowly, ears primed for anyone coming up, but they were silent. Holding his breath, he skirted around the edge of the common room to the entrance. With anxiety he waited, watching as people walked aimlessly every now and then, sometimes coming closer to him than he'd have liked.

After nearly ten minutes, his way was unbarred as an older couple entered, their appearance a little dishevelled. He slipped through before it closed again, careful in his movements to keep the cloak covering himself and away from where it could snag.

With no fires to heat it, the stone corridor was chilly. He pulled his arms close to his body and, by virtue of how he held it, the cloak, making it taught and more uncomfortable with every humid breath.

Taking a path he knew well, the time slipped by unnoticed, his mind focused on fending off his body's reaction to the numbing cold. Removing his wand, he tapped the door handle, whispering a familiar incantation, before entering their room.

It was halfway between the Gryffindor tower and its Ravenclaw sister, an ideal place for them to meet. Despite leaving greatly earlier than usual, she still beat him here and, not for the first time, he wondered if this was so much a meeting place as it was her own retreat that he occasionally disturbed.

No greeting was made as he recast the locking spell and deposited his cloak onto one of the dozen or so chairs distributed around the room. There was no discernible pattern to their layout, for him, but he felt like if he looked hard enough, then he would find one.

Rather than break her attention from reading, he sat down on the chair that opposed her. Strewn across the table between were pages of notes. Some he recognised from his previous visits and some from homework assignments the year prior, while a further few had eccentric drawings of compound creatures.

One in particular caught his attention. The main body was that of a scorpion, but thicker. In addition, the pincers were substituted with ape-like arms and its head had more of a hog's appearance.

A gentle rush of air informed him that she had finished. Like always, she had carefully lowered an end of the book onto the table and then let it pivot down.

'Have you got the spell for moving the tracking charm?' he asked, trying to find a title on the front of the book, but failing.

Her fingertips slid along the cover before finding its spine and spinning it slightly. 'Yes, along with the tracking charm, I think. We can use a few different detection charms to check, can we not?'

His eyes found "Amongst the beasts of Borneo" in faded gold, the authors name illegible from his position while he nodded. 'What did you call it before, a deductive experiment?'

A touch of a smile graced her lips. 'I believe I did.'

'We find identification spells that give us positives and negatives and compare the tracking charms you found to the one on the cloak?' he expounded with a frown of concentration.

'Exactly,' she said in a short, sharp exhale. The mismatch of papers were further misaligned as she spread them out thinner, revealing hidden treasures. 'All of them have their advantages, but we can't deduce which advantage he wants, so instead we deduce which one he has.'

Putting his wand down on the edge of the table, he asked, 'So, how many spells am I learning tonight?'

Her face was blank as her eyes darted around the organised mess in front of her. 'I think four identification spells and up to six tracking charms. After that, we can transfer it, or them.'

The lightness beneath her eyes pleased him. 'Which one first?'

He watched her rearrange the pages, no doubt her mind whirring as she tried to reconcile which she thought most likely given his previous meetings with, and general gossip regarding, the headmaster. Well, that's what he assumed, but what he knew was that anything he assumed about her had a fifty-fifty chance of being wrong.

'This one,' she intoned, pressing her finger firmly onto a sheet of parchment while her free hand snatched a book from an unsteady-looking pile. Somehow, the other books plopped down without shifting. 'Page three-five-two. "The Huntsman's Bait." You apply it to something and then chant the locator charm and your wand will gently pull you towards the target. It's subtle and not in common spell books.'

'Sounds promising,' he replied, taking a look at the book and, more importantly, the wand movements.

She nodded and relaxed her arms, bringing them to her side, with a lot less care than she used to. He knew there was more she could say, maybe even more she wanted to say, but he liked that she held back. Sometimes, it was nice to leave what could be said later until then.

'Let's get started.'

* * *

'Let's get started.'

She watched him start imitating the movements in the book. Somehow, he always managed to do it with grace she could only wish for, even when he only had the stodgy images in black and white to go by.

His wand swung through the air, weaving a shape not unlike a bow-tie. She doubted he noticed, but a weak trail of magic was left in its wake. Unsure of what exactly caused it, her thoughts usually settled on his subconscious trying to cast the spell as he read it, but failing due to a lack of will and power. That's not to say he wasn't powerful, but he was only twelve and it would be the equivalent of wordless magic, a feat not expected until his sixth year.

Fluttering her attention further north, she watched him mouth the incantation over and over again. She hadn't asked, but he'd told her that he did it because it helped him feel the magic out. Although unable to describe it well, she too felt the tug inside of her when she copied him. If pressed, she would say it was like trying to wiggle her ears (which was an ability she wished she possessed, but sadly didn't.)

For some reason he connected to his magic better than she did and it was something she didn't begrudge him. She knew it possible that he could have been born with it or that his exposure to powerful magic at the tender age of one left its mark or his existence as the battery for a ward of unknown strength and effect readied him for channelling magic properly.

Whatever it was, she didn't begrudge him. In her mind, she recounted the times they were together, his knack for picking up spells aiding her own gathering of practice. Everything from the levitation charm to the clothing transfigurations to the potion detection charms...

A glow distracted her and she lazily raised her head to find an old quill pulsing between pastel colours. Slowly, it settled to swimming through shades of blue. Looking up, she caught his eyes and smiled, one he returned.

'That was amazing for a first try,' she commented as the magic started to fizzle out of existence. He mumbled something that she ignored and opted instead to stare through him, like she usually did.

Like he usually did, he squirmed under her gaze before finally saying, 'Thank you.'

'You're welcome.' Her smile broadened slightly as it always did when he stopped trying to discount the compliment.

Their moment was quick to end, his attention returning to the book and arms regaining their precise movements. Given he was working, she decided to do the same and pulled out a book of charms from her pile.

Turning to the bookmarked page, she retrieved her wand from behind her ear. The wood felt alive to her touch, her excited magic eager for use. Drawing upon it, she pulled her magic up and through her wand, incanting, '_Disillusion,_' while softly touching her head with the wand's tip.

An oozing trickled down her body, though her mind was fixed on continuing the spell rather than registering the sensation. When she no longer had the draw on her magic, she relaxed, breathing out and lowering her arm. Opening her eyes, she saw him smiling at her.

'Nearly there.'

She moved over, letting herself show in the mirror. As he said without saying so, there was still a hint of herself looking back, but it was like a noticeable smudge on a window rather than the semi-opaque ghost-like figure she was the last few times.

'I reckon you'd be fine using it like that as long as no one's looking for you too hard.'

'Perhaps I can wear nothing and pretend to be a ghost?' She indulged in observing his blush in the mirror, as he always did when she teased him. 'Most people wouldn't spare me a second glance if I did, would they?'

He coughed loudly and went back to looking at the book. 'I-I think it would be better if you didn't.'

'You can be so boring; I have no idea what that dark lord sees in you.'

She relished hearing him chuckle, but stopped paying so much attention to him as she released the spell from herself. Slowing down her breathing and closing her eyes, she ran through the theory in a moment before repeating the incantation.

The magic washed down her quicker this time and it fuelled the excitement she felt. After breaking the wand from her head, she waited a few seconds before opening her eyes. A grin took to her face as there wasn't even a hint of a trace of herself looking back.

Testing it out, her arms moved casually, picking up speed until she could see the lag in the mirror. Biting her lip, she guessed that it was unlikely for her to move that fast, but it was disconcerting that it wouldn't be as effective if she had to beat a hasty retreat.

'You're over-thinking things, I bet,' he said. 'The charms weakening.'

Blinking, she was surprised to see a weak impression of herself copying. With her negative thoughts suitably disrupted, it blended away into the background, leaving her invisible once more.

'There we go; I told you practise would make up the difference. After all, the book said most people overpower it because they don't have the will for doing it properly.'

'Shame on you, suggesting I would want to be like most people,' she said, chastising him and hiding her mirth, even if it was a bit redundant considering he couldn't see her.

'I-I didn't!' he said.

She hummed out loud, leaving him sweating. 'Okay, I'll forgive you, but don't make that mistake again. After all, most people are unable to count to ten in the language of the Merfolk.'

'That's probably right.' Waiting a moment first, he then asked, 'Can you?'

'I think so, but I haven't checked yet,' she replied. 'Am I still invisible?'

'Either that or you've found a voice throwing spell.'

Crinkling her nose, she broke the charm and felt the magic lift off her. She turned around and observed as he repeated his attempts, that most likely the third. Again a glow enveloped the quill, but this time it stayed a consistent navy blue before fading out.

His lips upturned as he looked aside, catching her eye. 'It's still too light, don't you think?'

She paused to remember before answering. 'That book tells you it should be nearly black, but there's another one that says it darkens in colour depending on the power put into it, going from a normal blue upwards.'

Nodding, he asked, 'On to the identification spells then?'

* * *

He watched the cloak glow a light red, bordering on pink.

'Four for four,' he announced, a little laughter to his voice. 'I'm glad I've learnt not to doubt you.'

Twisting his head, he watched as she dribbled back into existence. 'And I'm glad for you,' she replied, a little smile on her face.

He liked it when she, no they, were happy. It was a subtle difference, but she would smile more and it would make him smile more, not to mention she would become more playful with her words, throwing in little jokes that you had to be on the ball to catch. She became a different person to that small, broken little girl...

'The switching charm is easy to do for the Huntsman's Bait, but it was awfully hard to find, almost like someone didn't want anyone to be able to locate it,' she said.

His face fell as he asked, 'You don't think?'

She shook her head, her hair flowing. 'I'm simply saying that it's not impossible.'

With the earlier admission still fresh in his mind, he started thinking, paranoia easing its way into his mind.

'Still, there were a pair of books mentioning it, so here you go.'

Snapped back, he accepted the book, his vision barely extending beyond it. Despite his clouded thoughts, he worked through the snippet of theory. Collecting the charmed quill, he placed it beside an empty ink pot.

There was no wand motion for this, so he felt confident as he held his wand to the quill and saying the magic words. The glow that had enraptured it before reappeared, only it now clung to the end of his wand, like a droplet of ink. Carefully, while keeping his mind focused, he moved it to the pot and released it.

After a few seconds, the new target of the charm lost its luminescence. Loosely holding his wand between the two items on the desk, he muttered the associated locator charm, his wand gently tugging towards the pot.

Smirking, he stepped back and turned to the side. 'Yup, it's easy alright.'

'Or I lied as part of my nefarious plan to trick you into performing complex spells with ease,' she replied softly, her attention on the table. 'Either way, the pudding is in the proof.'

Hesitating between asking her if she was serious, informing her she got the phrase backwards and assuming that anything he said wouldn't improve his situation, he settled on saying, 'I'll just do the cloak then,' though he made it sound in between a statement and a question.

Retrieving the cloak, he placed it beside the quill.

'Er, what happens if I mess it up?'

She broke her gaze from the table and put it upon his own. 'At best, the charm returns to the cloak and you try again. At worst, it breaks and Dumbledore knows it's been broken, leading him to putting on a new, even more obscure, one.'

'I'll try not to mess up then?' he asked and she nodded back.

Taking deep breaths, he steadied himself before repeating the procedure, dragging the charm from the cloak to the quill. His unease lasted until the magic subsided.

'Phew,' he whispered.

'Another wonderful success,' she commented, patting his arm. 'What should we do with the quill? I was thinking you could attach it to Hedwig and ask her to slowly make her way to China. It would be interesting to see if she is more intelligent and resourceful than he is, don't you think?'

His resolve broke as he burst out laughing at the absurdity of the supposed greatest wizard alive chasing, and being outsmarted by, a bird, even if she was the smartest bird in the world in his humble opinion. 'Maybe...' he began, his breath hardly back. 'Maybe, we could transfigure it to a pin or a badge, so I could wear it when I'm doing boring sneaking around stuff and keep him in the dark.'

'No, that would be silly. A pair of cotton knickers would make much more sense, since you wouldn't accidentally lose them then and it's unlikely anyone else would take them from you.'

'I,' he managed before his embarrassment got the better of him and he had to look away for a second. 'I think other people may be more interested in a pair of knickers in my trunk than you think. Dean, I know, would want to know all about them.'

'You could always say they were a present from me,' she suggested.

Still unable to look back, he replied, 'I don't think he would understand and would probably get completely the wrong idea.' Slowly, he looked back, only to find her smiling, a practised innocence on her face. Scowling, he said, 'You tease me too much.'

She exaggeratedly nodded. 'Or not enough,' she then added.

Bringing a hand up to rub his face, he muttered, 'Why?' With his own practice to fall back on, he banished the blush. 'Okay, so what problem did you see with the badge?'

'People like to ask questions and it would be odd for you to have a badge you never wear,' she said. Swiping her fringe aside, she continued. 'I think if you were, make two badges and start wearing one without the tracking charm.'

'People don't usually go looking in my trunk,' he said out loud, though more to himself than to her. 'But I guess it wouldn't hurt...'

His attention was drawn to her as she started rummaging through a discarded bag. Eventually, she pulled something small out and returned to her original seat. Possibilities of what she could have running through his mind, he joined her.

She placed it beside the quill in a delicate motion. 'The Quibbler produces badges for our long term supporters.'

Surprised, he asked, 'But I'm not a long term support of the Quibbler, am I?'

'I believe daddy granted you a life-time membership in honour of your parents, but some magic prevented delivery of the issues. When I return home tomorrow, I can ask him to start sending them out to you, if you want them I mean?'

He smiled, finally understanding why she often had the paper on hand and where some of her quirkiness came from. 'Sure, I'd like that, and I'd be happy to wear the Quibbler badge, though I'm not sure if I'll help with sales at all.'

Her head tilted and she stared at him for a few seconds. 'They'll see.'

Unsure if he should ask, he instead went to work on the quill. The inanimate-to-inanimate free transfiguration was first year work and he was confident with his ability to accurately change whatever made up a quill to the same bronze as the badge. Placing his wand on the former, he concentrated on the latter, taking in all the details he could.

Slowly, the quill darkened and shortened, until it was like a wooden block. Rough gave way to smooth as it took on a shine and the brown appeared metallic and lighter. The bottom began to move into itself, but left behind a thin rod.

Struggling, his grip tightened and head began to ache, but the intricate guard and pivot part took shape along with the lettering on the top. Satisfied, he released the spell and slumped in his chair. 'That was harder than I'd thought it would be.'

'Of course it was,' she said matter-of-factly. 'It's much bigger than a matchstick and you didn't use a pre-made spell for it.'

'Huh?' he asked. 'Are you just pulling my leg again, because I'm happy being as abnormal as I am now.'

Her head swayed from side to side, like she was listening to a melody only she could hear. 'Maybe yes or maybe no.' Gently, it stilled and she stretched out a hand to inspect the duplicate. 'I was just going to give you another one so you could transfer the charm over, but I like this one. It's very impressive.'

Biting back the instinctual modesty, he replied, 'Thanks.'

'You're welcome.'

Not wanting to disrupt the silence just yet, he took the time to do a proper check up on her. As he noted earlier, the bags beneath her eyes had gone as had the usual redness. She sat comfortably, lacking the slight fidgeting and odd rash on her arms. Her socks didn't match, not that he would ever expect them to, but her shoes did.

'They've stopped now,' she said quietly.

Again, he restrained himself from speaking automatically. Locking eyes, he asked, 'Stopped trying or stopped succeeding?'

She struggled to keep his gaze and broke away. 'Succeeding.'

In an instant, it was like he was looking at the girl from a little over a month ago. He wanted to tell her that everything would be okay, that they would come around and treat her like they should've done from the start, tell her something reassuring. He couldn't lie to her, she didn't need that and didn't deserve that.

'Thank you, for everything... I feel like I have a friend for the first time in years and all I can think of is how much you've done for me and how little I've given back and...'

It surprised him, having grown used to her protective state. Knowing how important this was, he didn't want to ruin it by saying something stupid. 'I like you. I like spending time with you. It might not seem like much to you, but it's a lot to me and I've had fun learning all these spells together.'

She still hadn't looked back at him, but he was glad to see her smiling. 'I, I feel the same way.'

'Good, then we can get back to you teasing me and me acting like an idiot for your entertainment.'

When she nodded and looked back at him, a grin on her face, he felt like he'd finally done something good in his life. The warmth he got from her happiness was beyond the rush he got from besting a troll or smuggling out a dragon or saving the philosopher's stone...

'If you knew someone, someone who had a childhood like yours, would do whatever it took to help them?' she asked, a subtle urgency to it unnerving him ever so slightly.

Having lost himself in his own thoughts, it took him a moment to change tracks and, after thinking, firmly answered, 'Yes,' before adding, 'Why?'

'Curiosity,' she replied, her smile feral.

* * *

Watching him leave, her fingertips ran along the spine of the book, feeling the embossed title "_Moste Potent Potions_" as her feral smile returned.

* * *

Leaving the room, he ghosted back to Gryffindor tower. Although it wasn't too late, he was fairly sure most would be in their dorms by now, though whether there was much sleeping going on was another question entirely.

Barely whispering the password, he eased to the side to avoid the portrait before sneaking in. As he expected, no one was present and he made his way to his room with ease. Listening, he could make out the snores of three of his fellow lodgers, making it likely all four would be asleep or attempting to be.

Slipping through a barely open door, he skulked across the room and dropped the tracked badge onto his bedside table as well as his cloak onto the bed. As silently as he entered, he left again, ignoring the slight hiccup in one of the snores as he closed the door.

'_Disillusion._' The familiar magic trickled down him. Back through the deserted common room he went, passing through the dual entrance and exit once more.

Creeping through the castle, he felt the chill worse without the cloak, but he easily pushed the cold away by increasing his pace. Down the stairs and along the corridor he went, getting closer and closer.

His heart pounded in his ear ever faster.

Taking stairs upwards, the silence of the school was broken by distant murmurings. Slowing his steps, he softened his breathing and focused on what little he could make out. Closer and closer he got, until the origins were revealed beyond a corner.

'I'm telling you, she's snuck out to that room and all we'd have to do is lock her in then go tell Flitwick we're worried about her,' whispered one girl with short brown hair and her witch's robe on.

'But he'll know someone locked her in there and we'd be the prime suspects!' whispered the other girl, this one with dirty blonde hair.

The brunette shook her head. 'No way, we'll just be the two little firsties looking out for our friend. Besides, I saw her go into the room the other day, so I know how to get to it now. She had some kind of charm on it – I dunno, you have to know about the room to see it or something.'

'O-okay, if you're sure we won't-' she began.

Having had enough, he quietly incanted, '_Mucus ad nauseam_,' and sent the dark green curse down the corridor before following it up with, '_Furnunculus_.' The first struck the brunette and the second the blonde; mild compared to what they did to her.

Without waiting to see the results, he retreated, taking some satisfaction from the muted scream that followed a few seconds later. He doubted they would admit the truth – they and the others hadn't before – but that didn't mean he would get careless.

Drifting back towards Gryffindor tower, he cast a dozen of the spells he could remember from his classes at the magic-resistant walls and windows, making sure to avoid any rebounds. Approaching his destination, he thought of how he'd have to remember to find a new place for them to meet, though hopefully her improvements in the Disillusionment charm would help keep the next one secret for even longer.

He didn't know what she thought of his vigilantism, but she was doing better and they were doing worse, so he hoped she didn't mind. Besides, it didn't feel as good as actually making someone happy, but it was close.

* * *

Author notes: Apologies for delay (profile has reason for it.) The pacing of time is one of the two problems I've had, but I've now settled on a fairly fractured schedule with the intention of canon running along side subtle changes I've stated, implied or left to the minds of the reader. The other problem is characterising Harry and Luna, since the first chapter was in very unusual circumstances, but it's something I've mildly planned. Next chapter shouldn't be quite as long a wait – I'm currently thinking a fortnight or so given other writing and uni exams and my thoughts on the chapter fitting into my preferred ~5k words – and will skip right along to the end of the school year.

Thanks for all the reviews for the first chapter – I promise I've read them all. First of all, for people who dislike me using ' ', I'm sorry but I'm British and, for us, using either ' ' or " " is completely acceptable; I might change it over if there's really a bunch of people who care, but it's pretty annoying to do, so I probably won't. Second of all, an eagle-eyed viewer spotted the similarity between the first chapter and an omake in Odd Ideas (ch 100;) it wasn't a conscious decision of mine, but I can't deny that it influenced me since I am a fan of Rorschach's Blot and have read most of his stuff. As such, I'm more than happy to point people in his direction. Third of all, I really won't be adding Hermione to the Harry/Luna 'ship, so don't read it if that's all you're hoping for – to be honest, I don't really even have any specific plans for Hermione beyond Harry's friend and denier of Quibbler. In the slight chance that there's any Ron fans eagerly anticipating his role in things, I'll be throwing him under the bus fourth year and Ginny, along with the rest of the Weasleys, won't be getting much script-time at all. In case I've been too subtle, Dumbledore isn't going to quite be an unassailable idol in this and there's more characters I could discuss, but that would be revealing the plot a bit prematurely. I just wanted to include this last bit so people with relevant reading fetishes can safely stop paying attention now – I know I've got a few and it sucks when you're slapped in the face completely unaware.


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